


Mine

by LivinOnARarePair



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-25
Updated: 2017-06-25
Packaged: 2019-02-06 08:27:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12813582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LivinOnARarePair/pseuds/LivinOnARarePair
Summary: The long-awaited sequel to Of Toques and HGTV.Set after the 2015-16 season.Marc and Kris celebrate the Cup win.





	Mine

**Author's Note:**

> To everyone that read and enjoyed _Toques_ , I freaking love you all! To everyone that commented, know that I read every single comment (more than a few times!), and your words truly mean the world to me. So I'm trying to come out of writing retirement because I just love all my wonderful readers so much. I'm in uni now, so my stories might be few and far between and generally on the short side, but I promise, I'm going to try to do better. I thought this would be fitting for my twenty-ninth fic, and I worked really hard on that word count. I hope you enjoy this little piece!

“You ready?” Marc asks, grin bright in the dimly lit locker room.

“I still don’t think this is going to work,” Kris says, shuffling his skates.

“Only one way to find out,” Marc says and takes off.

Kris curses after him but follows, and they take the ice together one last time for the year. They’re technically _definitely_ not supposed to be in here, but if management didn’t want guys sneaking into the rink after hours, then they shouldn’t have given Sid a key to the building, knowing that Geno would eventually figure out where the captain hid it.

Never underestimate a Russian, is the lesson to be learned here.

Marc takes a lap, just to feel the warmth in his legs, but Kris just props himself on the goal that is set up in Marc’s crease. Marc makes a mental note to thank Geno for that little touch sometime . . . later. Right now, he has better things to concern himself with. He skates up in front of Kris, spraying snow to the side. After all, it would be rude for him to snow shower his naked boyfriend, especially when Kris agreed to do this for him.

“Mon Fleur,” Kris says, an admonishment, but he’s smiling ever so slightly.

Marc grins bright in the semi-dark arena, and bends down enough to fit his hands around Kris’s thighs and lift him up. Kris yelps in protest, hands securing tight on Marc’s shoulders. Marc sets him on top of the goal, laughing because he’s _elated_.

“I hate you,” Kris says, but he’s grinning now too.

“You don’t,” Marc says confidently, leaning up. Kris meets him halfway, and they share a kiss that is more teasing sting than anything. Marc lays a hand on Kris’s chest. “Lay back, babe.”

Kris does as asked, carefully laying back on the mesh of the net. “I don’t see how you’re going to-- _ohh_ ,” he breaks off with a filthy moan when Marc kisses a spot high on the inside of his thigh.

“Hm,” Marc hums against Kris’s skin, wrapping his arms around Kris’s thighs and pulling him forward a bit. Kris’s legs fall open a little further for him, and Marc loves him. It took Kris a while to get to where he was comfortable like this with Marc, but now . . . Oh, now. What they have . . . it’s something magical. “We’ve got all night,” he says, like an afterthought. “I’m going to take my time and enjoy you any way and every way I can get you.”

Kris only whines in his throat as Marc leans in and takes a long lick. They’d prepped in the locker room before coming out here, Kris leaning over a bench and Marc fingering him open slow, keeping Kris on edge. Kris still tastes like cherry lube, and Marc laps teasingly at his rim, pushing just enough to ease the tip of his tongue in.

“Fucking love you,” he murmurs against Kris’s perineum before biting at the junction where ass meets thigh, a spot that never fails to make Kris shiver. Kris’s breath shudders, and his legs draw in for a second, thighs touching Marc’s ears before he settles again.

“Easy,” Marc murmurs, teasing, and Kris huffs a laugh at him, gently cuffing the side of Marc’s head with his knee. Marc presses a kiss to Kris’s thigh, pressing his grin against the warm skin so Kris can feel what he does to Marc. Then he dives in again, shouldering between Kris’s thighs gently and really getting into it. He strays to lick, kiss, bite, any bit of skin he can reach before returning to Kris’s hole again and again. He nips at Kris’s rim, then pushes his tongue in as far as he can. He pulls back to take a breath and press a kiss to Kris’s thigh before diving in and really tongue-fucking Kris. Kris goes a little wild at that, hips working in tiny circles and making the most obscene noises Marc has ever heard.

“Marc, _Marc_ ,” Kris gasps. He gets a hand in Marc’s hair and tugs him back gently, leaning up on an elbow. He looks wrecked, and Marc wants to keep him there always. “You gotta stop, or I’m not going to last.”

“Don’t think you can come twice in one night?” Marc teases, pressing his most mischievous smile against the inside of Kris’s knee.

“Considering you got three out of me last night, I would guess that I could,” Kris smirks. He nudges Marc’s shoulder with his knee. “But I want this to be special for both of us.”

“It’s already special for me, baby,” Marc says and gets to enjoy watching Kris blush. “As long as I’m with you.”

Kris looks dazed for a moment. “I love you,” he murmurs and leans down to kiss Marc softly, hand cupping Marc’s jaw.

“I love you, too,” Marc returns, kissing him again for good measure. It had taken him some time to warm up to it, _what hadn’t?_ , but Kris loves kissing after rimming, no matter which way they do it. Marc loves that about him.

Kris leans their foreheads together so they’re just breathing each other’s air for one long, lovely moment. Then, not moving from that position, he flicks his eyes up to Marc’s, and there’s a fire there that Marc is wonderfully, amazingly familiar with.

“You ready to do this?”

“Never been more ready for anything in my life,” Marc says.

“Catch me,” Kris says and hops off the goal. Marc catches him easily, hands fitting around Kris’s hips to keep him steady.

“Got you,” Marc says, just because he can.

“I know you always will,” Kris says softly, kissing him once.

“Forever and always,” Marc murmurs, pressing a kiss to the hinge of Kris’s jaw, just beneath his ear. Kris shudders in his arms. “Promise.”

“Marc,” Kris sighs, like a prayer, and Marc needs him _now_.

“Turn around,” Marc says, nearly _pleads_ , kissing Kris’s shoulder.

Kris pouts at him for half a second before smirking and turning. He props his arms on the crossbar and sticks his ass out a little, spreading his legs, and Marc has to take a minute just to enjoy the view. His hands fall on Kris’s hips, but they don’t stay there, running over Kris’s bare skin like he hasn’t already mapped it countless times with hands and mouth alike. Marc swears, suddenly overwhelmed.

Kris looks over his shoulder. “Come on,” he says. “Fuck me, mon Fleur. Know you want to.”

“Always,” Marc teases with a smile. He presses himself along Kris’s back, and Kris shivers against him with a soft, vulnerable noise.

Marc trails his hand down first, fingering Kris gently for a few long moments while pressing kisses to each piece of inexplicably tanned skin that he can reach. When Kris is gasping against the mesh of the net, Marc murmurs, “You good?”

“Marc, _please_ ,” Kris begs.

“I’ve got you,” Marc murmurs. He jacks himself a couple of times and lines himself up. They haven’t used condoms for some time, knowing they’re faithful to each other and that they’re both clean, but here, it feels bigger somehow. They’re on _their_ ice. This is Marc’s crease. More often than not, they are here, putting on a show, but now . . . Here and now, it’s just the two of them, performers on a stage but missing an audience. It’s their most beautiful secret.

“Marc,” Kris whispers, barely audible, but the sound of it still echoes somehow, across the ice, ricocheting off the glass and back to Marc until it’s all he can hear, and his name on Kris’s lips is the only thing he wants to hear for the rest of his _life_.

“I’ve got you,” he says again, just for something to say, and then he finally eases the head of his cock into Kris. Kris moans like he’s dying, and maybe they both are, Marc thinks as he slides in until he’s fully sheathed inside of Kris. Kris’s hands are white-knuckled in the net, and he gasps and pushes back into Marc. Marc starts slow, easing himself in and out of Kris carefully while stroking over Kris’s hip again and again.

“ _Marc_ ,” Kris all but sobs, and Marc gives him a little more, pumping his hips that much faster.

Marc kisses Kris’s shoulder, then bites at a freckle he knows is there without having to look. It was the first place Marc ever left a hickey on Kris, a lovely purple thing that had lasted for _days_. He intends to leave another.

“Kristopher,” he whispers, and Kris shudders with an overwhelmed sound, pushing his hips back against Marc’s driving into him over and over and _over_ , and Marc needs to see him. He pulls out and bodily turns Kris around so they’re facing each other. Kris looks dazed, and Marc pulls him in close. Kris hooks his leg over Marc’s hip, the boot of his skate digging into the small of Marc’s back, and Marc slips back in. He can feel Kris like this, cock trapped between them, hard and leaking everywhere. He wants to get a hand on Kris to make it even better for him, but he can’t bring himself to separate from Kris. Instead, he pulls him ever closer, tucks himself into Kris, both of them clinging like they’ll never let go. Marc feels like he could hang on to Kris forever, anyway. Keep him close always and never, ever stray. He wants to tell him, but he can’t find the words, so he just presses his open mouth to the side of Kris’s throat and breathes there, an unspoken promise.

“Marc,” Kris gasps like it’s the only word he can remember, and that’s it.

Marc comes, crushing himself to Kris, and he can feel Kris come between them, tightening around him, and it feels like he’s wringing Marc’s very soul out. In one blinding instant, Marc can’t tell where he ends and Kris begins, and maybe, he thinks, it doesn’t even matter.

It snaps like a taut bowstring, and they’re left leaning on each other to stay upright and trying to catch their breath. Marc feels like his spine melted right out of his body, and the way Kris is relying on him to keep him from hitting the ice, he’s probably feeling about the same.

“Wouldn’t work, eh?” Marc huffs a laugh against Kris’s sweaty shoulder, and Kris swats him on the ass, but Marc just laughs at him, still holding him close. “Thank you, Kris,” Marc says. “For doing this with me.”

“Hey,” Kris says on an exhale. “We’re in this together, you know.”

Marc leans back to grin bright as the sun. “You wanted this as much as I did, didn’t you?” he asks gleefully.

Kris doesn’t pretend to disagree. “Hell yes, I did. The idea was fucking hot, you claiming me in your crease, your . . . _place_. Do you know how many times I jerked off thinking about it?”

Marc huffs a disbelieving laugh. “Should’ve done this sooner.”

Kris smiles but shakes his head. “This was something special.”

“Two time Cup champs, baby,” Marc laughs and kisses Kris.

“Two time Cup champs,” Kris agrees. “Come on. Let’s go back to the locker room before we freeze together.” He nods at the sticky mess between them, and yeah, they probably should go.

“One more lap,” Marc says, and Kris agrees, “One more lap.”

They separate but don’t stray far, hands linked together as they skate a lazy circle around their ice. One day, Marc wants to be able to do this. Maybe not naked, but he wants to be able to skate around the rink with Kris, holding his hand. He spins Kris at centre ice and kisses him before Kris is tugging on his hands to get him to leave the ice.

They go to the locker room, and Marc lays down on a bench while Kris cleans up, waving off Marc’s offer to help. He lays there naked and watches the muscle move under Kris’s skin, and he gets a brilliant idea.

“We should get married,” he says and then has to laugh at the deer in the headlights look that Kris gives him. “We’ll do it in Vegas. No one cares what you do in Vegas.”

Kris makes a face. “We’re not getting married in Vegas,” he says. “We’re going to do it right. With a big, extravagant ceremony.”

“You sure know how to treat a guy,” Marc teases.

“And don’t you forget it,” Kris says, finally dropping the cloth he’d been wiping himself down with. He turns to rifle through his bag, and Marc sees he’s still got a little bit of come leaking out of him, and he _wants_. But, he thinks wistfully, that’s probably better reserved for home, and he tells Kris. “I want to come in you, then eat myself out of you and feed it to you with my mouth.”

Kris turns every shade of red. “ _Marc_ ,” he says, scandalised.

“When we get home, of course,” Marc says, shrugging one shoulder.

“Because that makes it better,” Kris says sarcastically.

“Doesn’t it?” Marc asks, grinning.

“Barely,” Kris mutters. Then, “Can I ride you?”

“Baby, you can ride my dick and my tongue, if you want,” Marc says, finally sitting up to get dressed himself.

“And you say I know how to treat a guy,” Kris murmurs, coming over to stand between Marc’s legs. He cups Marc’s face in his hands and leans down to kiss him. “I love you,” he says.

“I love you, too,” Marc says, and he thinks, it’s the truest thing he’s ever said.

They get dressed together slowly, sharing shy smiles and tiny kisses, like they’ve just started dating, instead of being together for years. It’s summertime, and probably still warm out despite the late hour, but Kris pulls the toque on anyway. It’s dark gray, the one Kris had stolen and worn on the plane out of LA so many years ago. The tag’s still sticking out, just as it had that day, the first time Marc acknowledged that Kris was taking his toques. Marc likes to think of that as their beginning.

“ _Mine_ ,” he scoffs teasingly, reaching up to tuck the tag back beneath the fabric.

Kris grins sheepishly. “I guess we weren’t very smart back then, eh?”

“No,” Marc agrees. He pushes the toque up to press a kiss to Kris’s forehead. “But it got us here, and that’s all that matters.”

Kris looks like he could float away on Marc’s affection, and Marc can’t help it. “Besides, I like to think of you as _mine_ anyway.”

“You know . . . I always was,” Kris says softly.

Marc’s arms wrap loosely around Kris’s hips. “Always?”

“I never knew how to tell you,” Kris says. “So I apparently reverted to my high school self and just started taking your toques.”

“Sneaky,” Marc deadpans and kisses Kris’s cheek when he blushes.

“Sid helped me take them,” Kris says. “And sometimes Duper.”

Marc squawks. “Sid’s supposed to be _my_ friend.”

“It got us here, and that’s all that matters,” Kris parrots and laughs at Marc’s sullen look. “He was trustworthy.”

“He stole one of your hoodies for me,” Marc says. “I slept in it in the summers when I went home . . . . Can you think of where we could have been if Sid had ever _said_ something?”

Kris shrugs. He smooths Marc’s jacket before laying his hands flat on Marc’s chest and looking up at him. “I wouldn’t trade it, the way we happened. Not for . . . Not for back-to-back Stanley Cups.”

“That may be the most romantic thing you’ve ever said to me,” Marc says.

Kris laughs, bright and happy, and pushes Marc. “Shut up. I was trying to have a moment.”

Marc catches his hand, hauls him in for a quick kiss. “I know,” he says. “I love you, too, Kris. And I’d go through hell to keep you, or whatever.”

“Or whatever,” Kris repeats, but he’s smiling. “I love you, Marc.”

“But you don’t want to marry me,” Marc hedges.

“I don’t want to marry you in _Vegas_ ,” Kris amends. “I don’t want to have a drive-thru wedding performed by Elvis. I want the world to know how much I love you and that I want to be with you for the rest of my life.”

Marc’s breath catches in his throat. He can barely breathe, but he has to know. “That’s what you want?”

Kris nods softly, and his eyes are so clear that Marc knows he’s never believed anything more in his life. “That’s what I want.”

“Me too,” Marc whispers, because it’s too monumental to ruin with any more than he needs for Kris to believe him.

“And I want to buy a house with you. A big motherfucker with a _yard_. I want us to get a dog,” Kris says. “And . . . And I want us to . . . have a couple kids.”

Marc feels like his world has been sent hurtling into space. His heart aches. “Kris . . . I want all of that, with you.”

Kris grins. “Then we’d better get started. Come on.”

Finally, carrying their skates, they leave the arena, locking the door behind themselves. There’s one other car in the parking lot, at two in the morning, and Marc can’t resist. He knocks on the foggy window.

It rolls down to reveal a smug Russian face and a sated Canadian on said Russian’s chest.

“Here’s your key back,” Marc says cheekily, holding the key out. “You kids trying to get arrested for indecent exposure?”

“Sid was mad I’m take key,” Geno rumbles. “Had to apologise.”

Sid groans, turning his face into Geno’s sweaty chest. He shakes his head and mumbles, “Never underestimate a Russian.”


End file.
